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My mother's last Christmas gift
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A box of old Christmas decorations unlocks a woman's precious memories after the death of her mother.
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By Louise Waronek
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Wayward strings of artificial pine-and-berry greenery, a sea of overflowing cardboard boxes trailing silver tinsel and golden garlands were proof that the Christmas season was upon us once again. My children were in a festive zone unto themselves, racing around the house, depositing statues of Santa Claus and snowmen onto empty ledges and vacant tabletops. The logs burning in the fireplace reflected the warmth of the holiday season. It was hard to believe that only two years before, on Dec. 9, 2003, my mother had passed away from cancer.
Suddenly, the magic and joy of the holiday season was lost in the chaos and confusion of funeral arrangements and legal commissions. My two sisters and three brothers and I tried to make Christmas Day as joyous as we could for all of our young children, but I was convinced that every Christmas Day from then on would be one of pain and sorrow.
When the time came to distribute Mom's belongings, we decided the best way to do this was to take turns choosing items that were important to us. It wouldn't be easy. Everything my mother had owned had meant something special to her, whether it was a handmade, crocheted doll dress or a decorative piece from a trip she had taken.
My mother's homemade crafts
We spread Mom's things out in my sister's garage. As the selections began, it was Mom's homemade crafts and floral arrangements that were chosen first. The electronics and household items were some of the last things to go. As the process wrapped up, I noticed a box overflowing with Christmas items. Although I already had my own Christmas decorations, the thought of Mom's cherished holiday decor being left unused and unwanted in one of my siblings' attics was too much for me. I scooped up my mother's boxes of Christmas decorations and took them home.
The next summer and fall went by quickly, bringing on a long, unforgiving winter. The Christmas season was rapidly approaching, and I dreaded it. It was the first anniversary of Mom's final life journey, and I was convinced that it would be a difficult and emotional holiday season for me. She had always loved Christmas, and it showed in the time and effort she put into decorating.
In late November I decided to take out Mom's Christmas decorations, which I had plucked from the corner of the garage earlier in the year. Although I wasn't sure if it was going to hurt or help me, I thought that seeing all of her treasures might bring a bit of the joy of the season back into my life. I carried the boxes that held the decorations upstairs into my sitting room and sat on the couch looking at them. The only holiday cheer I could muster at that point was a raised glass of spiked eggnog.
Old Christmas decorations unlock cherished holiday memories
With a reluctant sigh, I opened Mom's box of decorations, and what happened next caused me to sink back into the sofa. A warm rush of yuletide air suddenly engulfed me in Christmas memories. I saw the large, sparse blue spruce tree handpicked by my father, standing in the corner of my childhood home. I heard the snow crunching under my boots as we rushed to get into the crowded church for midnight mass. I tasted the Christmas baking my mother would eventually hide in the back of the station wagon to keep it from being eaten. And, finally, I saw my mother sitting on the floor beside the tree on Christmas morning, handing out presents to her pyjama-clad, sleepy-eyed children.
At that moment, I realized that I was no longer mourning the death of my mother. It was as if her spirit was set free the moment I opened her box of Christmas decorations.
I spent the rest of that day enthusiastically setting up Mom's artificial tree just as she always had. I made sure I spread out the limbs neatly and evenly, and placed only the ornaments that she had on her tree. A small-framed picture of Mom would be the only new ornament I would add. The rest of her collection of Christmas decor -- her wooden Santas and sprigs of snow-covered pine -- warmed my home as much as the crackling fire in our stone fireplace did.
Again this year I'll take out my mother's box of Christmas decorations and delve into the joy, healing and memories that it holds. I have come to realize that the life and death of my mother was a journey of a spirit that has flown through time and left its legacy for the remaining to interpret, celebrate and cherish.
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